


Bittersweet

by kirschtrash



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst and Humor, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Inspired by a Movie, Iwaizumi as Q, M/M, Oikawa as Margo, POV First Person, POV Iwaizumi, Paper Towns AU, Pranks and Practical Jokes, alternative universe, and lots of pranks, enjoy this!, iwaoi - Freeform, this has a lot of lame jokes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-09
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-07-22 12:14:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7438671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirschtrash/pseuds/kirschtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Iwaizumi believes that everyone is a paradox, in one way or the other - why else would people be so difficult to deal with, and so hard to understand?</p><p>But he never expected one such anomaly, known as Oikawa Tooru, to drop into his terrace in the dead of night. And when he pulls him into a night full of adventure - well, he sure as hell follows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet

**Author's Note:**

> HEY GUYS LONG TIME NO AO3 HAHA forgive me guys I had exams going on, and then I went for vacations! But now I'm here, with some Iwaoi! This is a Paper Towns AU, inspired by John Green's book! Hope u guys like it!
> 
> Here's my [ Twitter](http://kirschtrash.tumblr.com>%0ATumblr</a>%20and%20<a%20href=) and [Tumblr!](http://kirschtrash.tumblr.com)

_**Lost** _

 

I’ve always believed that people are like paradoxes.

Yeah, paradoxes; phrases or ideas that mean one thing, but suggest something entirely different. Like that, all my life, I’ve thought that maybe the reason why people are so different from one another is because they're just contradictory themselves. Maybe that explains why they tend to be so ironic at times.

You might call me crazy to assume something like this. I would, too; but then, have you not had friends who had your back one moment, but then stabbed you there the next? Have you not had lovers who held you one dark night, kissing you breathless, until they just left the next day, as swift and cruel as the wind? Have you not had joyous moments lighting up your life, and for a second you think ‘ _hey, maybe everything is gonna be okay_ ’ - but then all of a sudden, all of that hope vanishes into nothingness?

_Ironic_ , you’d say.

Like that, I believe that we all have different ironies that constitute us and our lives. They differ from one another; you can say that each and every person has a different anomaly to themselves. Some people make it a mission in their lives to solve it. For all we know, maybe some do end up solving it, achieving some other-dimensional peace, while most are just left wondering what the hell it all means.

Despite it all, I know for a certainty that my irony has to be the most amusing of them all.

Again, you might think I'm over-exaggerating my rather unfortunate position. And you know what? I wish I was - because it can’t get funnier than this.

Because out of all the places in the world I could have lived - I ended up living just one floor below Oikawa Tooru.

 

* * *

 

The sound of the professor dismissing his lesson is like music to my ears.

With a heavy sigh, I grab all my notes and papers, shove them inside my bag hastily, and make my way out of the lecture hall. But before I can, our professor hands out our assignments, freshly graded. When my paper reaches my hands, I can’t suppress a proud smirk, as I glance at my result.

“A great assignment - just as expected from you, Iwaizumi,” the professor dotes me, with a smile hidden beneath his bushy beard. I reflect his smile with my own, as I graciously thank him. I give him the best salute I can from afar, before I walk out into the hallway.

As expected, the hallway bustles thickly with students, whizzing from one hall to the next, eager to learn, and eager to pass. Most don’t go without at least one person beside them, as they chatter on and on about aimless things. Shouldering my bag, I dodge past said-students expertly, as I walk to my psychology lesson. I’m only a few steps away, when I hear a voice call my name:

“Iwaizumi, hey!”

Turning around, I sport a smile at the approaching figure.

“Kindaichi!” I greet him. “What’s up?”

“Just wanted to tell you that I passed my psychology test!”

“You did? That's awesome - congratulations!”

“Well, it’s a-all thanks to your tutoring!”

I wave a hand. “C’mon, in the end, your hard work matters. I was just happy to help.”

Eyes gleaming, the junior smiles brightly at me, with a pride I once held at every single good grade I got. He tries to say something, but is interrupted when a more timid friend of his calls him from behind.

“Kindaichi - we’re running late!”

Kindaichi turns to nod at him, before saying, “Well, Kunimi and I are heading back to our next class, now - thanks again!”

I pat his shoulder, before he dissolves into the sea of students. He had been a hardworking student, wanting to prove his academic prowess through grades better than the last. Being fully aware of that energy every student has in their first year of university, I did my best to help him out. Well, I’m glad it paid off; there’s no stopping the prideful blare in my chest, at that.

But it runs cold when I hear someone laugh in the hallway.

I don’t bother to search for the source of it, though. I only straighten my shirt, shrug my backpack higher up my shoulder, and walk to my designated class as quickly as I can.

As light and airy as that laugh was, it was also somewhat nostalgic.

 

* * *

 

“Alright, folks, I’m gonna need you all to revise these notes by tomorrow - you all are dismissed!”

All the students voice out their approvals at our professor’s statement, as they pack up their things to leave. Zipping up my own bag, I walk out of the classroom with a huge sigh, glad that the day’s lessons are over.

Cool gusts of summer wind greet me as I walk out of the building, the scent of freshly mowed grass thick in the air. Everyone rushes out of the university with a tenacity prisoners have when their parole ends, their chirpy voices drowning the honking of cars on the busy roads. I’m thinking about a good bath to award myself for a full day of surviving through grueling lessons, when I spy a couple out on the stairs. The girl - who seems to belong to the cheer-leading squad, as is evident from her uniform - is recounting an interesting story to the man beside her, with her arm wrapped around his lovingly. Her boyfriend listens, as he leans against the railings, though I’m sure he doesn’t really care - he’s too busy staring at another girl passing by a little too interestingly.

I can’t help but roll my eyes at the prospect: the girl calls him her lover, yet he is in search for it in someone else. Ironic.

Sighing, I skip down the steps, and make my way towards the parking lot. Even that place has no respite;everywhere I look, there are all kinds of people surrounding their respective rides, ranging from the timid groups of geeks, to the proud, more popular clusters of the cool kids. Some are so huge, they take up most of the width of the driveway. Weaving through these groups is a hard feat, yet after a few shoves here and there, I’m free from it. Wiping the sweat off of my brow, I walk towards my own car with a skip in my step - until I hear laughter echo from behind me.

I curse under my breath. I thought I had heard the last of it two days ago.

This time, I’m rendered immovable. Students around me walk past me, some even bump into me, shooting me a glare as they did - but I can’t walk ahead. I can’t avoid it.  
I turn around, to find a group of people crowding around a sleek, black Audi. A pair of young men sit on top of it’s hood, one of whom has their arms wrapped around the other’s shoulders, his chin digging into tufts of chocolate brown hair.

By instinct, my grip on the straps of my bag tightens. _Look away_ , my brain orders me. _Turn around, and walk away. Don't waste your time like this._

And yet, I glance at the other man, with a giggle still leaving his mouth, his eyes crinkling at the edges with humor, and pure contentment radiating from his being. From here, with the way he’s wrapped within the embrace of his lover, it's as if he could never have been any more happier.

My stomach tumbles sickeningly either way.

I have to wrench my gaze off of the scene. With a jaw clenched unconsciously, I walk to my car, and drive away, trying my best to forget that smile.

But it’s hard to forget that laugh.

 

* * *

 

I’m sure I’ve gone through my psychology notes six times already, when my cellphone starts ringing. Stretching my aching back on the couch like a lazy cat, I’ve come up with a list of excuses to not attend the phone call - but I smile when I read the caller’s name.

Sliding it open, I hold it to my ear. “Hey, mom.”

“Hajime!” my mother downright cooes from the other line. “It has been so long!”

“It’s only been a day since we last talked, mom.”

“Oh hush, you know how even an hour away from my son feels like a lifetime to me!”

I laugh at that, after which I answer every question she asks; was I eating well, had I cleaned my room, had I finished my homework, and much more. I tell her how my day went, and how my studies were going at my university.

She hums at everything I say. “Hm, well, that’s nice to hear, sweetie - how about some friends? Did you meet anyone new?”

Playing with the hem of my shirt, I answer, “Nah.”

She gasps on the other line. “‘ _Nah_ ’? Hajime, you don’t want to spend your life in your university as a loner, do you?”

I can’t help but grin at that. “Wow, mom, you’re worried about my popularity more than my education!”

“I just want my son to be happy, is all! Okay, then… how about a boyfriend, hm?”

There’s no fighting the unduly blush that creeps up my neck. “M-mom!” I splutter. Again with that card, I think.  
She chuckles rather bemusedly at that, teasing me about the ‘ _blush I must be sporting_ ’ to which all I can do is pout.

“Okay, okay,” she breathes, “We’ll talk about that some other time - but you must be acquainted with someone! Hm, lets see - oh, how about Oikawa?”

It feels as if I’ve swallowed my tongue.

“O-oikawa?” I croak, almost dumbly.

“Yes, Oikawa,” she stresses, “he is in your university, right? Have you met up with him?”

_No,_ I want to say. _No, I haven’t met up with him. He doesn’t even know me anymore - wasn’t that crystal clear a week ago?_

As eloquent as my mother has ever been, I hear her ask, “Sweetie, is everything alright?”

“Y-yeah,” I stutter, running a hand across my face, “I’m fine - and no, no; I haven’t talked to him much.”

She is tsk-ing on the other line. “Oh, dear - but you two used to be so close! What happened?”

What happened, indeed? What managed to dissolve a solid friendship built on rock-hard support, trust and fondness that persisted for years, and reduce it all down to a mere, far away glance in the parking lot?

I pick the only answer I can come up with: “Time, I guess.”

Before I hear my mom throwing a pity-party over me, I butt in: “Listen, mom - I have to go. I think I have some homework left to do. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?”

After a good few minutes of motherly coddling and cooing, I wish her a good day. I slide my thumb across the red button, glowing with the letters, ‘end call’.

Its when I look at the world outside my terrace, that I realize that it’s not day anymore; the sky has darkened into a deep purple, spreading and bleeding through the sky like ink on paper, as far as the eye could see.  
Wanting to look a little farther than that, I stand up from the couch. Stretching again, I feel satisfied when I hear a few weary cracks from my bones. With my naked feet sticking to the marbled floor, I walk out of my apartment, out onto the terrace. The cool, evening air runs over me, making the hair on the back of my neck rise. Rubbing my bare forearms, I walk a little closer to the edge, till can see the entire town unfold before me.

It has always been a small town. Mom loves calling it ‘ _The Tiny Town_ ’, for everything would end within one’s range of sight - and strangely, it does. From where I can see it all, everything looks smaller still - miniature, minimized; the white, squat houses to the east are bunched with strict order and precision, each one a carbon-copy of the other. The same kinds of roads and streets run through them all - even the trees lining their edges are equally spaced, all evenly trimmed. To my west, there are taller buildings, yet none are any grander; they are just like the apartments I live in, except some may have been a few stories taller. But otherwise, everything is unnervingly monotonous.

Leaning my forearms against the metallic railing, I take it all in; I stare at the sky above, the world below, and try to make some meaning out of it. I inhale the crisp air, and try to breathe purpose into everything I see. Yet it all feels… unavailing.

I release the longest sigh I’ve ever taken in. Tipping my head back, I look further up, slowly, slowly, till I’m staring at a symmetrical terrace just above me, quite similar to the one I’m standing on myself.

When my eyes start tracing the marbled tiles lining its underside, I can’t help but wonder at the world’s ruthlessly anomalous ways to deal with people - most of all me;

Of course the person living just above me had to be Oikawa Tooru - a man who used to be my friend; a man who is now nothing but a stranger to me.

We used to be the best of friends, back in high school, and even before that. The bond we shared had been a strong one, that resisted many trials and challenges. The memories we made had been plenty, both good, and bad. Through it all, I had believed that that bond of ours was meaningful; I had thought that it would be endless, that it would last forever. I had even dared to believe it to be immortal.  
But I had been young and foolish; I never registered life catching up on us. I never registered time transforming us, turning naive children into adults. As the distance between us grew, so did the silence; phone calls that lasted for hours on end reduced themselves to a few text messages, which eventually ended into complete stillness. By the time we landed in the same university, the silence between us had become permanent. Despite us living in the same damn apartment, what once was just ceased to exist. Soon, Oikawa was just another faceless man to me, lost like a mere, blurry photograph inside my mind.

Even when I had moved on, even when I had almost forgotten him, he was never lost, not truly. That damned terrace always stands as a reminder to myself that not everything that seems endless ever lasts. It’s a constant message to me, telling me that all that I once foolishly believed in with rock-solid faith might have never existed in the first place.

I feel myself shake my head - in denial, in dismay, in hopelessness, I’m not sure anymore. The only thing I’m sure about are the words I end up uttering:

“What the hell happened to us?”

I get no reply - not from the world, not from some Higher Force up above, not from me, and definitely not from Oikawa himself. I guess it is a mystery. A mystery as mysterious as him.

I stand up, and walk back inside, continuing my daily routine as if nothing was ever lost. It meant absolutely nothing, I tell myself. None of it meant anything. These are words I repeat to myself throughout the evening, till my head rested on my pillow, and slumber took me away from reality.

That is something I’ve been trying to convince myself for as long as I could remember.

 

*

 

_ Knock, knock, knock. _

Sleep still covers my brain like a thick blanket. I’m not ready to extract myself out of it, and I’m more than committed to just snore my consciousness away once again.

That is, until I hear it again:

_ Knock, knock, knock, knock. _

Grumbling a string of sluggish curses, I sit myself up. Digging the heel of my palm in my eye, a loud yawn rips through me.

_ Knock, knock. _

I still all over. I glance at the watch on my bedside table - it’s three AM. Who the hell would be up at this time of the hour? Am I imagining it…?

“What the fuck…?” I croak out. But then-

_ Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock. _

At that moment, any kind of sleep and fatigue vanishes straight away. I’m on my feet before I think about it, crouching low so as to grab a baseball bat from underneath my bed. Gripping its handle tight, I slowly creep out of my bedroom. I stop in the living room, squinting through the darkness; there's not even a soul other than mine there. Glancing at the kitchen beside me, I find it to be empty, too.

I hear the rapt again, bouncing off of the walls. With the bat extended threateningly, I take a few steps towards the front door.

Whoever the intruder is, they don’t knock anymore. I press my ear against the wood, and hear no man or woman on the other side. Falling on my knees, I take a peek through the gap between the door and the floor - and there’s nobody there. Had they left-?

_ Knock, knock, knock. _

I don’t know what surprises me more - the fact that the knocks are not coming from the door, or the fact that they are coming from behind me.

Glancing at the door handle, I gasp; it’s still as perfect as it had ever been. No one had broken through. Then who-

“Iwa-chan!”

_ Oh, no. _

_ No, no, no, this can’t be- _

With a gasp, I turn around, with the baseball bat extended to its fullest, preparing myself to whack anyone. Shakily, I manage to reach the terrace, stopping myself only a few feet away from its glassed doors.

My teeth gnash at my lower lip. I’m sure that this is some dream. _This can't be real_ , I reassure myself. It can't really be him, can it-?

“Iwa-chan, hurry up already! I’m freezing over here!”

_ Fuck. _

With shaky fingers, I wrench the curtains open, and there, out on the terrace, I see the visitor: Oikawa Tooru himself.

Talk about irony.

I shake my head when my eyes land on his figure, clad in all black, almost blending with the night sky behind him. I’m still shaking my head when I open the door for him, and let him enter my premises. I’m still in denial when I take a good few steps away from him, and I still can’t believe my eyes when they run over his figure, wearing a black hoodie, and dark jeans hugging his legs tight. I’m almost certain he is a fragment of my imagination, a shadow belonging to the night. But then, shadows don’t have brown hair sculpted to perfection like that. Nor do their have brown eyes as bright as those.

I feel awkward holding a baseball bat in front of an old friend, so I make myself keep it aside. Yet, nothing quite clears away the crippling tension crackling within the air between us. It persists the longer we stand like this, eyeing one another warily, solidifying the fact that this is real, that this is happening. The longer it stays, the harder I bite my lip.

And out of all the words that could have broken this endless silence, Oikawa chooses his words rather skillfully:

“I need you to drive with me.”

I’m dumbfounded to say the least. I can only stare at him in utter awe, and hope that Oikawa can freaking hear himself.

Of course, he doesn’t:

“So… Is that a yes?”

I scoff. “Excuse me?”

“Well, y’see, I’ve got these things I have to do, and I can’t do them on my own,” Oikawa explains, running a hand through his hair, “So, as my request stands - I need you to drive with me.”

I scoff again, because he doesn’t even realize that it’s been more than three years since we spoke, longer still if we’re considering the last time we stood this close. It infuriates me more than it hurts me.

I cross my arms, as I speak for myself: “What d’you think I am? Some- some driver to you?”

I spit it out with enough venom I possess, but being the simple-minded fellow he has always been, it doesn’t faze him one bit. He only hides a cheeky grin, as he bites his lips.

“Ah, I should have known - convincing you was gonna be harder than climbing into your terrace from outside.”

I don’t let his cheekiness get in my way. “Well, smirk all you want, because I’m not helping you,” I spit out.

That does just the trick; his smug grin falls from his lips, and his shoulders slump. I turn around before he starts begging:

“Oh, c’mon, Iwa-chan, just this one time!”

“I said no, Oikawa - a-and don't call me that!”

“Fine, fine - but you have to help me out-”

By this time, my anger has reached to its brim, the annoyance searing the back of my throat. Turning around, I face him fully, a finger pointed directly at him.

“Look,” I seethe, “I seriously don’t know what kind of game you're playing, but I’m wanting no part of it.”

“Just hear me out-”

“No! I’m not some pet you can play with. You think its funny to show up like- like this, but I’m not amused. I suggest you stop this sick prank of yours, and go back. Don’t waste my time.”

“But-”

“ _Leave_.”

The words get more poisonous than I had intended them to be - but I can’t avoid the frustration that boils inside of me. I don’t want to be bitter, yet seeing Oikawa approach me after years of silence opens wounds I’ve been trying so hard to heal. And the fact that he only has to ask a favor from me - it stings.

Clenching my jaw as hard as my fists, I turn around once more. I hope that Oikawa has the same mindset, of turning around and walking out of my life as easily as he had done so before.

But what he says surprises me:

“I… I wouldn’t be here if it didn't mean something…”

His words don’t surprise me, not as much as his voice; somehow, it had been deflated of all and any kind of bravado, reduced to a measly breath. It makes me stop myself, rooting me right where I stand, speechless.

Cursing under my breath, I turn around once more, forcefully meeting his eyes. He’s still standing, though anyone could see the way his gait had somewhat fallen. I don’t let myself get caught off guard, though. I cross my arms across my chest, and puff a breath through my nose. Nodding, I ask in an emotionless voice:

“So, what's this about, then?”

It seems as if he had planned this instance before, because he takes a deep, deep breath, before beginning:

“I know you're pissed that I woke you up like this, and sorta barged into your house on such short notice-”

“Well, that's an understatement-” I say, my lip curling.

“But like I said, it's not without meaning!” he exclaims. He then lifts two fingers to pinch the bridge of his nose tight, trying to focus himself. Unconsciously, I start biting my lip, equally eager and scared to hear what he says.

Oikawa begins: “It's a really long story, and I’m sure it'll bore you. But in short... Some people I used to call friends haven't been treating me that ‘ _friendly_ ’, lately.”

_How fucking ironic_ , I think.

“And I know you’re gonna say ‘hey, this is immature’, but I- I won’t let this slip by - I can’t. I mean, they probably feel satisfied, after humiliating me, after- after making me feel so worthless! They think it's easy to just step on someone they never cared about…” He spits out a cruel, humorless laugh. “Well, they’ll soon find out how wrong they are.”

A million and one thoughts whiz around in my mind chaotically. Conflicting doesn't even begin to describe it all. What is he on about? How bad could his friends have betrayed him, to the point that he has to prove them wrong? Why does he want to prove them wrong so badly? Yet, amidst these thoughts, there is only one question that echoes within the expanse of my mind - why me, of all people?

But the only question I can coherently word is: “What the hell are you planning?”

There’s a tiny spark that lights up his brown eyes, and it lasts for only a fraction of a second - aggressive, and unpredictable. It eerily reminds me of the way lightning flashes in a storm, lighting up dark clouds just before the thunder hits.

His lips curl from the edges, as he smiles a sweet smile, too innocent for my liking. His words bear no innocence, though:

“Let’s just say, that I don’t want Karma to have all the fun. I’ll be there to just… quicken the process. Then, it'll be more satisfying.”

A shiver runs through my spine. I pretend that it’s because of the cold breeze coming through the terrace, and not because of his steely gaze.

Regardless, I square my shoulders, and tilt my chin up, making up for the two inches he climbs over me. I choose my words carefully: “Well… I still need a valid reason why I should help you after all this time.”

I add the last bit on purpose, just to see what reaction I get out of him - just to check whether he’s even aware of all that we had lost; just to see if he still remembered.

Surprisingly, he doesn't throw a tantrum; he doesn't balk, he doesn't roll his eyes. He doesn't accept it, nor does he deny it. He only cocks his head at me, and smiles a tiny smile, a smile small and reserved - a sad one.

He shakes his head, ducking his gaze till he stared at his shoes. The tension between us is back at it again, clawing away at any and every kind of comfort that existed, leaving behind a cold, dreadful feeling. I have half a mind to just bolt from here.

But then Oikawa sighs tiredly. He says, “I just… Just this time. I’ve got- I’ve got nobody else. I know I can trust you with this. Just this time, I need your help. And then I’ll be out of your life before you know it.”

One part of me wants to say no. One part of me wants to smack him right in the face for having the audacity to show up so selfishly after such a long time. One part of me wants to run away from all that happened, hide under the sheets, and pray that it was all nothing but a long, crazy dream.

Yet, there’s one silent part of me that wants to help him right the wrongs that his friends had done to him. It also finds authenticity in his words - that he actually has nobody else to turn to, that he truly trusts me. It also sees an opportunity in his need - it sees a chance.

A chance of what? A chance to learn why he left? A chance to relive old memories, and make new ones? Does it seek a chance to mend all that was ruined between us, and build everything anew - a second chance? I’m not sure. I’m not sure anymore.

(What I’m sure of that it’s the same part of me that makes me grab for my jacket, and my shoes. It's also the same part of me that tells Oikawa to stop grinning.)

 

“So, do you mind telling we where we’re heading?” I ask the moment I seat myself in his car, hands on the wheel.

Oikawa does not reply straight away. Instead, he makes himself comfortable on the shotgun seat. He digs his fingers into the pockets of his hoodie, and extracts a really, really long piece of paper.

“First,” he professes, with an excited smile, “we go shopping.”

 

*

 

“Are you sure you need this many cans of spray paint?”

“Iwa-chan, if I tell you all the details of my plan, then it won’t be fun at all!”

“How many times do I have to tell you - don’t call me that!”

“Okay, okay, sheesh,” he says, rolling his eyes as he strolls ahead of me. Moments later, I hear him mumble, “always been so pushy, Iwa-chan.”

The way he says ‘always been’ almost makes me want to throw the same roll of duct tape he just dumped inside our trolley, but I resist. I just push it across the long aisles of a lonely supermarket that had the grace of remaining open 24/7.  
The shop barely has any people save the two of us, and I’m thanking God for that much. I can’t even fathom all the people that might have been staring at the pair of us if it were jam-packed; how often do you see two men shopping for things ranging from vague cosmetics like ready-made henna and hair dye, to carpentry products as obscure as rolls of duct tape, and thirteen cans of spray paint?

Not that often, it seems.

Other than these usual skirmishes, we don’t talk much. Mostly because Oikawa is too busy completing his shopping list, picking up and dumping the most random of things from their racks, into the trolley; also because I’m not sure what to say.

What do I even say? I could ask about his plots and schemes, but clearly he wasn’t ready to give all that up, for anything I’d try asking would only leave me more confused than before. I could ask him about his friends, but given that he’s trying to conspire against them, I take my better judgement and stay silent on that manner. I could even ask about the damned weather, but even that feels awkward when brought on the tip of my tongue; who knew years of continuous silence could change two people so much, that they can’t even converse anymore?

Despite it all, I silently trudge along with the rusty trolley forward, following Oikawa’s lead for another half an hour. Soon, I look around, and find us lost in what looks like the beauty products’ aisle. To both my left and my right, the racks are lined with colorful palettes, brushes and compacts. Despite how attractive their low prices look, I’m sure of one thing - from how everything’s covered with a film of dust, I bet most of these have crossed their expiry dates centuries ago.

I’m staring at ancient bottles of concealers to my right, when I feel Oikawa shove two bottles of nail polish right at my face. Taken aback by surprise, I back away a little, shooting him an annoyed look. But Oikawa doesn’t pay heed to it, for he only asks:

“Which one?”

_Of all the ways he could have broken the silence,_ is all I can think.

I pout at him instead. “Whad’you need my opinion for?”

“Well, you’ve always been better at making decisions. So, which one should I take? ‘ _Pretty Pink_ ’ or this cool metallic one?”

_ Is he even real? _

He’s asking my opinion with the eagerness of a child buying their first toy, his big doe eyes shining with childish giddiness. The only thing I do other than rolling my eyes is wave my hand at the metallic polish he held. With a satisfied grin, he replaces the pink nail polish back from where he took it.

At this point, I can’t stay silent anymore: “Is this some part of your plan, too?”

“Oh, this? No, I bought this one for myself.”

I think that he’s joking. Well, that’s what my mind has committed itself to, until I spy Oikawa in the middle of the vacant hallway, standing right underneath the only sickly pale white light on the ceiling, silently applying that very nail varnish on the last two fingers of his left hand. After two simple strokes, he blows at his fingers a little, pulling them back only to marvel at the way the white light glinted against the color, shining like liquid steel.

I can’t contain the scoff that bubbles out of my throat.

Oikawa catches it, though. Snapping his gaze at me, he mirrors my pout: “What’s wrong?”

Instead of feeling threatened by that face of his, I shake my head. Pushing the trolley ahead slowly, I lick my lips, saying, “Nothing, nothing. It’s that you’ve- you’ve gotten… different.”

Oikawa scoffs himself at that, turning it into a light chuckle. It seems as if he only leaves it at that, as he strolls nearer towards a wide range of discs and compact cases, each stacked over one another haphazardly. When I drag the trolley closer, he picks up a random highlighter. Running the tip of his finger over it’s smooth surface, he smears the dust across the edge of his cheekbones, making them shimmer.

I’m suppressing another groan in my chest, until what Oikawa says catches me off guard:

“Maybe I have gotten different. I wonder if you have, too?”

My eyes flit back at him, and it is then that I meet that deep stare of his. But I still wonder what truly transfixes me in place - his words, his intense stare, or the way his cheeks glow as if they’re made of gold.

 

Soon, after more trips through more aisles, we finally check ourselves out. I try my best not to meet the cashier’s eyes, a timid girl whose glances grow stranger the deeper she goes through our groceries. With a quick thank you, we grab whatever we bought, and walk back to Oikawa’s car.

Once we’re back on the road, he asks, “D’you know where the 5th Street runs?”

This tiny town is small enough on its own, so I nod in response. Turning the car, we enter the main road, running thick through the city. The streetlights only do a measly job of lighting up the black road, for the darkness pressing around us is too thick to evade.

“So,” I start, “Which one of your friends are you gonna target?”

“First, we’re gonna dish some justice to Yuuji Terushima.”

Yuuji… Ah, _him_ ; a youthful delinquent of our university, his wild nature evident from his blond undercut, as well as an infamous tongue-piercing. If I recall well, I had seen him more than a few times, hanging out with Oikawa. Why would he want to target him-

It’s moments later that I hear the ‘ _we_ ’ he used in his sentence.

I step on the breaks instantly, stopping the car top at a surprisingly convenient stoplight, with it’s first light flashing red.

Before Oikawa can begin to complain, I make myself loud and clear:

“I’m having no part in this with you.”

As expected, he balks at that. “But you came all this way-”

“I only came all this way to drive you around - not to barge into other people’s houses!”

“It's not barging in if nobody finds out-”

“Poor reasoning, Oikawa,” I growl, facing him fully.

But suddenly, he mirrors my position, bringing his face close to mine. He then cuts me off, in a voice louder than mine:

“Like I said, I wouldn't have bothered to call you if it didn't mean something!”

His sharp voice cuts through the tension in the air, leaving nothing but cold, still silence inside the car. Nothing could be heard other than our breaths, Oikawa’s being more ragged. I’m ready to say more, to defend myself, but the way Oikawa just lashed at me… it makes me stop myself.  
He pinches the bridge of his nose tight, screwing his eyes shut. He sits back against his seat, and remains motionless. Moments pass by just like that, with the red glow of the stoplight illuminating Oikawa’s skin. His eyelashes cast shadows on his cheeks, as he opens his eyes slowly.

His chest deflates with a sigh. “Do you know what Yuuji did?”

I sit back on my seat too, training my gaze forward. Gripping the steering wheel tight, I shake my head.

“He tried setting up some girl from the cheer-leading squad with my boyfriend - Ushijima. And he succeeded.”

I don’t register the way my grip on the wheel tightened. But I do register the way his voice deepens, filled with mixed emotions to the brim - emotions of anger, frustration, and regret.

“And it pisses me off, that he could just ruin my relationship with him,” he continues, “What pisses me off more is that Ushijima could fall for it so easily - he… he forgot me so easily. Now all that I can assume is that either he and Yuuji were in on this together, or Ushijima just- just never loved me.”

I stare at him, but Oikawa doesn't meet my eyes. His eyes are still trained forward, staring at the road lit dimly, and at the darkness beyond. His gaze remains focused ahead, staring at everything, and nothing.

The melancholy is thick and undeniable in his voice, when he says:

“My heart will forget Ushijima easily, but… but it can't forget the feeling of being unloved.”

My thoughts are whizzing in my mind at a speed of a million miles per second. The gravity of his situation hits me like a tidal wave: Oikawa’s boyfriend cheated on him. And he is afraid of feeling unlovable.

The red light washes over my hands, as deep and bright as blood, knuckles straining as I grasp the steering wheel with a death wish. I’m rendered speechless - what can I even begin to say, that might heal the pain he had gone through? A simple ‘ _sorry_ ’ could never suffice. Despite the way he ended our friendship, I can’t think that what he went through was what he deserved. Even the worst of people don’t deserve to feel as if they can never be good enough for someone.

Before I can say anything, Oikawa turns to look at me. “I can’t let them go unpunished, and neither can I do this on my own.”

I’m still unable to say anything; pathetically, I only gnaw at my lower lip, as an excuse to stay silent.

But then he says, “Please, only this time. Just this once - and like I promised, I’ll be out of your life forever.”

I hear his words, and I feel the weight of that promise in ‘ _forever_ ’. I ignore the way there is a dull ache in my chest. I only focus on my teeth gnashing at my lower lip.

In the end, I release the brakes. Silently, I resume our drive into the dark night.

Throughout the ride, I can’t help but clench my jaw tight. I don’t feel sorry for Oikawa; nor do I feel happy that he got to suffer without me. I only feel… distraught. Is this directed at somebody? Is it for Ushijima, for being so insensitive? Is it for Yuuji, for being so cruel? Is it for the world, for treating Oikawa this way?

(Is it for Oikawa himself, for letting his guard fall down for me to enter? Or is it at myself, for entering in the first place?)

I’m tired of this feeling, and I’m eager to forget it, let it slip by as soon as possible. Just to change the subject, I ask: “So, does Yuuji live there?”

“What? Oh, no, no,” he answers, waving a hand. “I have to buy flowers from there.”

My eyes blow wide at that, as I turn to look at him. “Flowers?”

“Yes - and keep your eyes on the road!”

“At this time? What for?”

“It’s all part of the plan! Why you ask, though?” he asks, kicking his feet up on the dashboard. He then grins. “Do you want one too, Iwa-chan?”

I splutter. “Th-the hell? No! And stop calling me that!”

“Ugh, fine!” he professes, throwing his hands in the air in defeat. He then presses a finger against his chin oh-so-innocently, as he wonders aloud: “Then what should I call you, hm? How about Hajime?”

That makes me grip the steering wheel a little too hard - I’m deeming it an act of shock only.

“Yeah, that sounds nice, actually! _Ha-ji-me_! Well, I like that much better! What do you think, Hajime?”

“I’d rather you not call me that-”

“But why? What’s wrong with Hajime?”

“How about I call you Trashykawa then, huh?”

That response was almost automatic, because I never meant to instigate such a fond memory between us; us calling each other by pet names that had stuck with us for years, just so we could tease one another… It all seems so old, now. Like an old photograph within a dusty album, graying with age, it’s only part of history now.

Oikawa giggles, and then holds his hands up. “Well, let’s not do that again! What would you prefer, then?”

It feels as if he added that word ‘ _again_ ’ on purpose. As if he is also aware of the gaping distance between us, but also won’t breach it. Is he avoiding it on purpose? Or is he afraid, too?

I try to loosen my grip on the steering wheel. “Iwaizumi is just fine.” I’m only here to drive him around - nothing more, nothing less.

“Well, then, Iwaizumi it is,” he confirms, voice void of any kind of sadness he had shown before, under the lone stoplight. And then he turns his face to the left, staring out of the window, into the dark world beyond. I glance at his way, and for a moment, all seems normal. Insignificant.

But then I catch the edges of his lips quirk upwards ever so slightly, curling into what seems to be a smile of fondness.

 

*

 

A blue signboard pops up within my field of vision. With white, bold letters, it reads ‘ _5th Street_ ’, and below it, there is an arrow. It points to the right, and I follow it accordingly, driving into a dark, dingy street. To our left, I see squat, square houses, lining the pavements almost civilly, belonging to the middle class; the people who lie between the rich and the poor. To my left, the street is lined with different shops, both big and small, all shut close for the night. Only a couple of tinier shops remain open, with their signboards lit up, but they don’t seem lively with customers. All they serve to do is cast their fluorescent hues across the dark road beyond, until the entire length of the street is dominated by pale shades of green, pink, red, and blue.

“Here - here is good,” Oikawa says abruptly.

I step on the brakes, and stop in the middle of the road. He says nothing more, and steps out of the car. I’m curious as to what kind of flower shop did he manage to find open in this ungodly time of the night. I glance at my sides, to find no such site. I’m almost certain that Oikawa is playing with me-

-until he stops before an old man, sitting down on the pavement, with a bouquet of tulips in his hands. He sits under a neon signboard that sheds purple light across him. The man is old, and weak; he wears tattered clothes, his feet gnarled and bare. His white, matted hair glow purple from where I can see him, and his eyes are milky white, with no sign of pupils through which he could see.

Oikawa places his hand on the man’s shoulder lightly. Ducking low, he greets him with a smile - and quite surprisingly, the man smiles back, revealing a row of missing, crooked teeth. He then folds his legs beneath him, sits across the poor man, and… talks.

And the two talk for quite a while; with his hands threaded beneath his chin, Oikawa nods and smiles and converses with the old man as if they knew one another since forever. The blind man, in turn, talks with equal enthusiasm, flashing a weak smile whenever he could. The two even share jokes, which cause the both of them to laugh without a care of the world. It even makes me smirk.  
All the while, I can’t help but study the two; at the poor man, whose face lights up at every joke with a hidden youth, and whose smile grows a bit more natural the longer he talks; at Oikawa, who listens to what the man has to say, and says words that somehow lift his spirits. I stare at Oikawa, who doesn’t let his smile fall for even the slightest of moments. I stare at Oikawa - and realize that I’m witnessing a part of him that I have never seen before.

I shake my head - in wonder, fascination, disbelief, I’m not sure. All I’m sure of is this ticklish feeling of curiosity in the pit of my stomach, that makes me want to learn more things about him I hadn’t known. Maybe he has changed, I think.

Oikawa then grabs the poor man’s hand, opens his palm, and drops some money. He then curls his fingers around his, making the man clutch the money. His lips start moving, speaking silent words only the man could hear.

And the man did seem to hear, for he smiles the widest of smiles. His shoulders shake with a bout of laughter, as he extends his other hand, and rests it on top of Oikawa’s head. Oikawa bows his head a little, his eyes shut close. His lips curl into a soft smile of contentment, as the blind man pats his head affectionately. The gentle scene makes me smile unconditionally.

He then takes the bouquet of tulips from his hands gently, their petals turning magenta under the neon lights. With another pat on his shoulder, Oikawa gets up, and makes his way back to the car.

Just as he turns, I snap my gaze away and start tapping at the steering wheel impatiently, pretending that I wasn’t staring at him the whole time.  
  


We’re back on the main road, and it is then that I ask: “Why haven't I seen that guy there before?”

“He always changes his place,” Oikawa answers, “Sometimes moving in the deeper parts of town, or even in the outskirts. Luckily, he was here tonight.”

I hum at that, inhaling the scent of tulips filling the stale air inside the car. They’re fresh and crisp, even in the night.

I dare a little, and ask ahead: “So… is he an acquaintance of yours…?”

He smiles a crooked smile at that, as he begins playing with the delicate, orange petals. “Yeah, you could say that - I’ve always bought flowers from him. He’s always had real flowers - not the artificial ones the other shops have, with their fake scents. And besides... sometimes he gives really good advice.”

That makes me glance at him. He continues: “It started when I’d get bad grades, or when I’d have a bad day at school. Then I’d always come to him, and complain about it, sometimes even cry as I did. He never hated it, though; he always gave me good words of advice - and then he’d give me a flower, just to make me happy. I think it sorta… stuck since then; after that, I came to him whenever I’d feel lost, confused, or even when I just needed to be quiet. He’d help me out all the time.”

“And your family? Friends?” I ask, too eager to even care whether I’m overstepping boundaries - both his and mine.

Oikawa cocks his head to one side, though he is still too busy studying the tulips in his lap. His fingers trace the edges of the orange petals delicately, and his voice is soft when he says:

“They never understood me.”

I nod at that, but I can’t help but wonder: did none of his friends and family help him out when he needed it? Was he forced to find help himself when he was lost alone, out in cold, dark nights similar to this one - just because his companions chose not to come to his aid? Regardless of everything, my chest constricts.

I say the only thing I’m capable of saying: “Well, I guess sometimes the blind end up having better sight than most.”

I feel Oikawa’s gaze on me, but I don’t meet it. I keep my stare trained forward, however, driving the car where he needs it - nothing more, nothing less.

I also feel his smile, when he says, “Couldn’t agree more.”

 

*

 

“I hope you’ve got everything planned.”

“Of course I have - why, are you scared, Iwaizumi?”

“N-no!”

“It’d be natural if you were, considering that this is your first time-”

“Like I said, I’m not scared!”

“Then try to keep up!”

And that is all Oikawa says in his sing-song voice, before skipping down the few blocks down the street. With a grumble, I trail a few steps behind him, trying to keep up with his upbeat pace.

Within minutes, the house of one Yuuji Terushima looms over us. It’s not a grand structure, with only two levels to it's stature. Yet it covers a great deal of area, making up for the lack of outwardly grandeur. It’s walls gleam pale and white under the streetlights, but its windows are shuttered black, revealing no light. Anybody inside must be sleeping, it suggests.

Oikawa dodges the cobbled walkway leading to the front door, instead sprinting towards the back of the house. With nimble steps, I follow him, till he stops with his hands on his hips. Tipping his head back, he stares at a lone window around four and a half feet above him.

“This is the only window of his house loose enough to open from the outside,” he judges. “Hm, I’ll have to climb, it seems.”

“Uh, and how?” I inquire.

With his gaze fixed at the window, he says, “Gimme a boost up.”

I squint at him. “Why do I have to do that, huh?”

“You’ve always had more power than I did - that’s why you were the brauns while I was always the brains!”

“Are you suggesting something, Oikawa?”

“I’m just being honest! G-god, you don’t have to stare at me like that, it’s scary-”

“Shut up,” I seethe. Yet, I pull back my sleeves, and crouch down all the same. Cupping my hands before his legs, I say, “just climb already.”

Huffing, he stepped onto my hands. Just as I lift him up, he jumps - and his hands grasp the edge of the window will. I hold his legs, my muscles straining under the effort. But I still hold on, as he forces the window open. After that, it’s only a few moments before Oikawa wiggles inside the house.

Once he’s in, he looks down at me. He waves a hand, telling me to wait. Then, he disappears back inside, and I’m left alone outside.

The night is silent and peaceful. But the longer I stand here, the more anxious I feel. I try to control my racy heartbeat, as I tap my foot constantly. It’s hard to keep myself steady, considering the fact that this is indeed the first time I’ve taken pranks to this level - calling myself ‘unprepared’ is a fucking understatement. I’m not sure what to expect, or how to react if anything goes wrong. The last thing I want to do is ruin everything - both for him and for me. I take a shaky breath, knocking the nerves out of my mind. All I can do is hope that Oikawa knows what he is doing - and that proves to be a hard feat on its own.

Just then, I hear the creak of a door opening. I gasp, pressing my back against the wall, hoping that the dark shadows are thick enough to cloak me. Had they found me already?

Daringly, I peer from the edge of the wall, my sweat running cold when I see a dark figure standing not too far from me.

But then the figure starts humming - and it’s when I hear that chirpy voice of his, that I realize that it’s Oikawa.

I sigh in relief, before walking towards him. As I do, he folds his arms. “I didn’t scare you, did I?”

I ignore the cheekiness in his tone, and instead mutter out my reply, “No.”

“Well, now you don’t have to!” he professes, completely oblivious to my answer. “We’ll totally give Yuuji what he deserves - trust me!”

I sigh at that again. _I don’t have a choice, do I?_

He leads me through the kitchen and dining room, both cloaked in darkness. After walking up a flight of stairs, we enter a narrow hallway, dimmer than the last, lined with identical doors.

That’s when Oikawa turns towards me, with a finger pressed to his lips. _Quiet_ , he orders, and I obey. With nimble footsteps and breaths held within our throats, we walk deeper into the hallway. For a long while, nothing fills the stale silence, and it begins to irk me more than it comforts me. Soon enough, I can feel my knees shake with every step I take. I ignore it, though, walking forward like some hypnotized soldier, stopping only once we face his bedroom door. Oikawa doesn't waste another moment after that; extracting a bobby pin from his hair, he sits on his knees, and inserts it into the doorknob, wiggling it around with an expertise only he knows. 

Moments later, the lock clicks open.

Grinning, Oikawa stands up. He looks at me, and nods. His expression asks a question: _you’re ready?_

I ignore the way my hands quiver, as I nod back. _Yes._

Without another moment to lose, he grabs the door knob, twists it, and opens the door wide. He gasps.

What surprises me more is the smile he hides behind his palm.

“Oh my,” he whispers quite amusedly, “Talk about rare-pairs.”

_ What the hell…? _

I push past Oikawa to get a look inside the bedroom - and once I do, I can’t contain a gasp of my own;

The bed inside has not one inhabitant, but two - a guy, and a girl, both of the same age, and both of whom go to my university. Both were beneath the sheets, and from the way their clothes lay scattered around them, they must have been stark naked underneath.

“Yuuji along with Yukie; this just got better - I get two targets in one go!” is all Oikawa can think of saying.

I shoot him a look. “Oikawa, is this really necessary?”

“Karma won't give me a better chance!”

“Oh, for crying out loud-”

“Hey, she’s as big of a culprit in this as Yuuji is, I hope you know,” Oikawa rasps. “The girl Yuuji set up for Ushijima is her best friend - she’s the one who suggested her to him!”

I can't come up with a proper answer for that, so I only make a bitter face. I understand his burning desire for vengeance, but there’s still a doubt that stings at the pit of my stomach. The last thing I want to do is bite off more than I can chew.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry, we’ll still go according to plan!” he counters. Sighing, he whispers, “You know what to do?”

I can only nod, to which Oikawa grins again. Even in the darkness of the night, his teeth glint like a freshly sharpened knife.

Looking back inside, I search for a white door, the kind that he had described to me beforehand. _Bingo_ , I think, when I finally see it, just a few paces away from the bed itself, almost blending with the walls. Oikawa shoots me a thumbs up, before he moves ahead, creeping up towards the sleeping pair laying on the bed. Praying a silent prayer to any god that might be willing to listen to me, I start tiptoeing my way towards it. My feet whisper around the stray articles of clothing scattered on the floor messily, as the door looms closer to me.

With each step, I feel as if I might have everything in control. For a moment, I almost believe it - almost.

The door is only a few feet away from me, when I stand on a loose floorboard.

_Creak_ \- the sound fucking booms inside the room, cutting right through the silence like a knife through butter. Both Oikawa and I still right where we stood like statues, too afraid to even breathe.

Then sheets begin rustle softly. Moments later, I hear limbs jostling underneath. Suddenly, the pair begins to murmur in their sleep; my heart jumps to my throat, and Oikawa seems as if he’ll be ready to pounce like a panther any moment. Sweat rolls down my forehead, yet I make no move to wipe it away. I only bite my lip hard, with a single thought in my mind - _don’t wake up, don’t wake up, don’t wake up-_

What happens next feels like it all passed in the span of a second:

All too suddenly, Yukie mumbles something incoherently, while Yuuji laughs. It lasts for only a second, before he lets out the loudest snore I’ve ever heard. And then there’s silence.

It has lasted for only a breath, when I hear Oikawa chortling in his palm. I snap my gaze at him sharply, giving him one look that makes him stop before he worsens the situation. Motioning me to get a move on already, I finally resume my pace with more precision and extra care. It's not long before I'm finally inside Yuuji’s bathroom.

It’s darker inside, but from the way the moonlight glistens against the pale, white tiles plastered on the walls and the floor in neat rows, I can make a good guess on how huge it might actually be. A few paces ahead of me, a mirror as tall and broad as the wall itself, looms over a marbled bench. Beside the gleaming white sink embedded into it, there is an array of products, ranging from fancy tins and jars of balms, to weird bottles and cans of strange things, all having strange purposes.

Despite the constant threat of getting caught at any moment breathing right down my neck, I can’t help but smile a nervous, giddy smile. Perfect.

 

Once I’m done with my task, I don’t rest for a single moment; I quickly pocket all of my equipment, and tiptoe my way back into the fray. I expect Oikawa to be done with his part of the job already - but he’s far from done, when I see him smearing hair removal cream on Yukie’s left eyebrow.

“Hurry up, already!” I whisper.

But he’s too amused to even hear me. I walk closer, stopping on the other side of the bed, right beside Yuuji.

“Yuuji’s still left,” he notes. “C’mon, help me out.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, you - you’re the only here.”

“B-but I can't-”

“Yes you can, and you will. Here,” he says, handing me what seems to be his tube of hair removal cream. “Wipe out both of his eyebrows.”

I do take it from his hand, but not without my fingers quivering with fear. “Oikawa…”

“Hey,” he demands. Even in a whisper, his tone has a certain steeliness, forcing me to meet his gaze.

“You can do this,” he tells me. “I didn't bring you here for nothing.”

The words are simple; they might have slipped past my conscious just like any other sentence. But the way he says them… it feels different.

It’s enough to reduce my fear into an energy that drives me to grip the tube tight. Its enough for me to pipe out a dollop of it on my finger, and smear it over Yuuji’s eyebrows. Thankfully, no matter how much my hand shakes as I apply it on him, Yuuji seems blissfully unaware of it all.

When I’m done, I look at Oikawa. He looks back - and smiles at me. Strangely, I find myself mirroring it back.

The smile curls into an evil smirk when he whispers, “Just one thing left. Y’know how it goes?”

I nod. Just as planned, I echo in my mind.

My mind knows how unnecessarily extreme this measure of his is, and most of the times, I agree with my mind. But right now, it's different.

Swiftly, I pick up all the stray clothes I find, and pile them up on the floor. Pulling up the sleeves of my jacket, I extract the cone of henna from my pocket, and squeeze out all of its contents onto the pile. A part of me feels disgusted to do something like this, but spying Oikawa doing the same from the corner of my eyes somehow makes me unable to care.

Quickly, I pick up the pile of henna soaked clothes, and carry them to Oikawa, who is already dumping his share of clothes out of the nearest window. I follow his suit, and as the last few articles of soggy cloth slip through my fingers, I don’t fear the way my heart hammers against my chest - I relish it.

Dusting my hands for a job well done, I turn to look at Oikawa. He stands at the very edge of the bed again, staring at Yuuji. But this time, he has his back turned towards me, and this time, there's no way I can deny the steeliness that is so clear in his whole being. He stays like that for a few moments; motionless, silent, and completely blank. I can't help but wonder the things that might go through his mind - is it bliss for tasting such a sweet vengeance? Or remorse for a failing friendship?

But then, he surprises me: carefully, he takes out a single tulip from his hoodie, it’s orange petals vibrant, even in the darkness of the night. He places it on the edge of the bedside table. And without even a second glance, he turns his back towards the sleeping pair, and makes a move to finally leave.

All is quiet by the time we’re at the door again - a little too quiet. The silence that might have reassured my safety once now only makes my skin crawl all over again; as if anything could go wrong at any moment.

I didn't expect it to be this soon.

Oikawa has only placed his foot just outside Yuuji’s bedroom, when suddenly - _creak._

Gritting my teeth, I'm too afraid to even look back. They can't wake up now - they can’t-

Sheets rustle once more, but this time, they only intensify. Soft murmurs begin to bleed through the room - until I hear someone speak in a groggy voice: “What the- who’s there...?”

_ Oh, shit. _

Oikawa must have been thinking the same as me; without a breath’s pause, he grabs my wrist, and we run.

The mumbles turn into frightened shrieks and cries of outrage by the time we’ve bolted out of the bedroom, through the hallway, and into a storeroom. Oikawa is the first to jump out through the musty window, landing on the grassy floor, curled into a ball. He’s beckoning me to jump too, his arms outstretched to catch me if needed.

When I look down at the ground, I’m second guessing myself. My hands helplessly clutch at the window sill, fingers digging into the splintering wood. Its as if fear has frozen me in place. _Move already_ , my mind orders. _Move-_

_Click. Click. Click._ The sound of switches clicking on echoes from behind me. The faint beams of light even bleed through the darkness of the storeroom.

_Fuck it all_ , is all I can think before I jump, too.

The fall is blissfully short, for soon, I feel the ground beneath my feet. But I don’t have the finesse Oikawa has; my knees buckle beneath me, jarring into the earth. I grit my teeth as the shock of the fall runs through me like a spurt of electricity. I lose my balance, and I feel my world tilt - but then a strong hand grips mine, and pulls me up on my feet. My head is still reeling, but Oikawa keeps on pulling, and we run again.

Oikawa is chanting a continuous stream of ‘ _go, go, go_ ’ by the time I’m in the driver’s seat. And I obey; revving the car engine, I step on it, and screech right out of the street. I’m too afraid to look back, even when we’re far away. I keep my gaze forward, and keep on driving, putting in as much distance between us and those victims as I possibly can.

I deem it safe enough to halt the car once I find myself on the main road. A stoplight hovers just above us, constantly signalling red.

Panting, I turn to look at Oikawa. He’s out of breath, too, sweat clinging to his skin in thick droplets. Our gazes interlock for a fraction of a second.

Even when Oikawa wheezes for breath after the run, he breaks into a crooked smile. I feel myself grinning like a fool - and soon, we’re laughing.

Our laughs grow louder the longer we sit there together. We’re rendered breathless, too blissfully unaware of the things we just did. I don’t even register all the possible consequences I could be thrown into after this, none of them being good at all. I can’t, not when adrenaline is rushing through my veins like electricity, not when the sweat sticking at my back feels so right, not when giggles don’t seem to stop erupting from within me. And quite frankly, for once in my life, I don’t want to worry. I don’t, not when I feel so damn alive for the first time ever.

“We did ‘em good,” Oikawa admits. “Oh God, I can only imagine the both of ‘em with no eyebrows. And holy shit, Yuuji’s gonna have a new hairstyle!”

“Well then, I guess he’ll have to start loving green!” I cackle out.

Oikawa dissolves into yet another fit of giggles, his airy laughter flooding within the car. But it doesn't feel suffocating. It feels… nice. Having a laugh in the middle of nowhere, right at the dead of night helps me forget all that had happened between us momentarily. For a moment, all the silence, all the waiting, and all the regret boiling across the expanse between us seems to disappear into nothingness. For a sweet moment, there is no distance.

Alas, the blissful moment gives way to reality when Oikawa gasps:

“Oh, you're bleeding!”

I’m taken aback by surprise, more so when I follow his shocked gaze, and find my right forearm caked with mud. When I tilt it a little, I wince; there is blood, alright, oozing from a small gash near my wrist.

“Ah,” I wince. “Shit, I didn’t even notice. Must've scratched myself against the window sill…”

“Good thing I brought Band-Aids and alcohol swabs with me!” Oikawa chirps.

I crinkle my nose. “The hell-”

But his nurse-like nature overrules everything else. He starts rummaging through the shopping bags behind us, sitting back upright only when he’s gotten a hold of a few white squares of alcohol swabs in one hand, and what seems to be a bunch of bright, neon-colored Band-Aids in the other.

My eyes blow wide out of their own accord. Oikawa catches my expression; with a small pout, he justifies himself: “What? They didn't have any other.”

I squint at him, now. My squint grows deeper the longer I stare at him. Finally, he cracks:

“Okay, fine, I like the neon ones! Happy now?”

“God - you’re impossible-”

“Shut up! Now hand me your arm.”

“You don’t have to, y'know-”

Those are the only words I have the liberty of speaking, for Oikawa shuts me up, by yanking my arm himself. He throws his equipment onto his lap, and pulls the sleeve of my jacket further up my arm, revealing more of my skin. Grabbing my wrist, he twists my arm gently, so that my wound faces him.

I’m still willing to patch myself up, but I’m sure Oikawa wouldn’t even listen. He tears an alcohol swab open with his teeth, and presses the cool cloth against my wound. I hiss at the way it stings, but Oikawa blows at it softly, so as to soothe it.

The motion of his surprises me. Soon, I can't help but focus on the way his eyebrows scrunch at the center of his forehead when he cleans up speckles of mud and dried blood on my skin. I feel the way his fingertips brush against my wrist so delicately, and the heat his skin emanates against my own. I focus on the way red light from above falls on his face, and illuminates Oikawa’s cheekbones. That’s just his highlighter, I think - but nonetheless, I can’t help but marvel at the way they shimmer like dust made of pure gold. I even note the way his tongue pokes out of his mouth when he carefully peels open a neon pink Band-Aid, and gently sticks it to my cut, with a queer sort of concern I’ve never really seen in him before.

Oikawa has always cared for others, has always helped someone out when he had to. But never like this.

He glances at me suddenly. “What’s wrong? You don't like pink?”

And that's when I realiz e that I might have been staring at Oikawa for too many moments to call a mistake. Feeling a blush creep in my cheeks, I look away instantly, instead training my gaze at my Band-Aid.

“I- I like it fine,” I mutter. “Thanks.”

Thankfully, he let's the awkward subject fall, as he smiles brightly. “You're welcome, Iwa-cha- I mean, Iwaizumi. Now, let's move ahead-”

“Hold up,” I cut him off. Getting a little close, I squint through the darkness of the car and the glare of the red light shining from the stoplight above us, I spy a cut lining his jaw, just beside his chin.

“You’re hurt, too.” I judge.

Oikawa looks confused. He follows my line of sight, and presses his fingers to the cut. “What- this? This is nothing, man.”

But I pry his fingers off, and inspect it more. Scooting a bit closer, I see that Oikawa is right; it is a shallow wound, not much to fret about. And yet…

“It could get infected,” I say, “There’s dirt covering it.”

“Ugh, I'm telling you, it's nothing-”

“Quit being a drama queen and let me help you, okay?” I blurt out.

That shuts him up well and good, though not without a childish pout. I myself am not sure why I’m so adamant to help him. He could fix it up himself, yet here I am, reaching for an alcohol swab from his store, and tearing it open myself. _He helped me out, too_ , I reason with my conscience, as I wipe it against his own cut. _This is the least I can do._

All I’m doing is returning the favor - nothing more, nothing less. Right?

Oikawa winces at the contact, shying away from it. But I grab his chin in place, almost by instinct, and clean up the remnants of dried blood around the cut. By then, he stops resisting. As I peel a fresh Band-Aid open, I notice Oikawa just… looking at me.

I quirk an eyebrow. “What? You don't like green?”

It seems that I had caught Oikawa off guard, for he shakes his head, as if he were extracting himself out of a brief state of reverie.

“N-nothing,” he smiles, with a single breath of laughter. “I like it fine.”

Sighing through my nose, I tip his face aside, tilting his jaw towards me. And he’s still looking at me, with a stare I’m not sure what to call. It’s too intense to call it friendly, and it's too tender to call it threatening. It’s hard to name it something. It's…

When I’ve stuck the Band-Aid on to his cut, my curiosity overrules my defensive mechanism. I meet his gaze with my own.

My breath hitches when I see the way his eyes gleam, even when all that lights up the car is the glaring red light above us. And when he grasps my stare, returning it with a burning intensity that might have seared, I can’t help but think one thing:

_ It’s magnetic. _

“Uhm - it's done.” I cough awkwardly. I wrench my eyes off of him, and turn the other way.

Throwing the dirtied alcohol swab out of the car window, I hear him speak:

“Thank you.”

I grunt my reply, but I don’t face him. Instead, I hastily change the subject:

“So, now what?”

Oikawa sits up straight, staring at the road ahead, clothed in darkness. The hood momentarily lights up in blood red when he replies:

“Now, we’re left with Ushijima.”

 

He gives me directions to his house, and I obey, threading the car from one road to the next, driving deeper and deeper into the depths of our tiny town. Streetlights whiz past us in the blink of an eye. With the way the sky is as dark as jet, they shine as bright as stars would. Other than the soft voice of the car’s engine rumbling, there is only silence - both out in the open, and within the car.

The silence between us might have given me comfort before, but not anymore. Seeing Oikawa this quiet irks me.

He’s going after his ex, after all, I remind myself, Ushijima. If I recall well, I have seen Ushijima more than once back in my university; stern of face, and even more stern of demeanor. One look at him made you doubt whether he had the slightest bit of humor in him or not. Even so, he doesn't seem like the kind of guy who’d give up on someone he loves that easily. So why did he? He might have held Oikawa’s heart so dearly before, caring for it, and calling it his. Yet what made him forget him so swiftly, that he had to throw his heart away as if it were made plastic?

The irony of it all makes me want to break something: Ushijima had wrap his arms around Oikawa - a man he might have never loved in the first place. 

I swallow the bittersweet irony down. Sneakily, I take a peek at him; his eyes are trained forward, staring at the dark road beyond. But I doubt that he’s actually seeing it at all. With the way his eyes are hooded, I can tell that he’s not here - he’s lost somewhere within the folds of time, too busy searching for something in moments that have slipped by.

_ Even if he’s heading out to dish justice to the one who wronged him,  _ I think _ , it won't stop his heart from hurting. _

The silence has persisted for far too long, and I make it a mission to break it. Coughing awkwardly, I ask, “So, uhm, for how long have you known?”

Oikawa glances at me, his eyes wide in surprise. “Known what?”

“That Ushijima is… y’know…”

“That he’s been cheating on me?”

The news is still too raw for me, still too bitter a pill to swallow, so I only nod.

As I turn the car into a narrow street, he replies:

“Since two months.”

My fingers grip the steering wheel a little too hard, my knuckles going stark white. I resist the hitch inside my chest, but the realization hits me like a punch all the same - he had to be loved falsely for two whole months silently, all on his own.

I can’t fight the bitterness in my tone. “That son of a bitch-”

“I’m mostly at fault, though,” Oikawa butts in softly. “I didn't do anything sooner.”

His words make me stutter. I look at him again, he who is still too busy staring at the emptiness the night has to offer.

I still ask. “Why didn't you?”

Again, I feel as if I'm stepping into uncharted grounds, territories I'm still too naive to step into. With that seemingly simple question, it feels as if I've dug myself too deep into everything that Oikawa has hidden from me, for all these years.

But this isn’t just a feeble curiosity. It’s different.

Oikawa remains silent for a while. Finally, he wrenches his gaze away from the world beyond, and tips his head back. He stares at the ceiling of the car, tracing the light patterns etched into it with his eyes.

He sighs a tired sigh. “Why didn't I? Hm, I could answer that with anything. I could say ‘I was lazy’. I could say ‘I was in denial’. I could even say, ‘I didn't because I was waiting for the perfect chance to strike’. That would definitely sound cooler, wouldn't it?”  
Laughing, he shakes his head. “Nah, that isn't it, though - none of it is. I just…” He shakes his head harder, as if he’s trying to evade toxic thoughts inside his own mind, forcing them away from his sanity. With a ragged sigh, he snaps his gaze towards the window. It might seem as if he’s looking outside, but I know he isn’t;

That much is evident from the way his voice thickens with emotion, when he says with a shrug: “I’m not sure why I took so fucking long, myself.”

It feels as if my voice vanishes from my throat, for I’m rendered speechless. I can't find the words to say anything, can't find the emotion in me authentic enough to comfort him. I want to say something, I want to do something, to make him feel anything but this-

But I’m too scared to get closer to him, more than was necessary.

And so, quite pathetically, I shut myself up. I stop saying things that might reopen wounds he’s taken days to heal, and instead carry him to the only thing that might help ease his pain - revenge. I can only hope that it works, for there is no other way I can help.

It’s a strange thought: out of all the people I’ve met, it’s him who I want to help. It’s him whose brokenness I want to heal, whose pain I want to soothe. It had to be him.

(It scares me to my core, to suddenly care for someone I’ve been trying to forget for years. So fucking ironic, I wonder.)

 

I park the car a few blocks away from Ushijima’s house, just to be safe without being suspicious. I pull the handbrake, halting to a stop. Oikawa’s opening the door before I even pull the car keys out. I notice how he hasn’t really brought anything with him, none of the crazy, wacky things he bought from the store - well, except a few tulips.

I step out of the car quickly, stumbling to stand beside him. For a moment, we don’t move. We just stand side by side, silent as the night surrounding us. As I stare at the road stretching before us, it’s path black as coal, I remember how we used to stand this way back in high school, drunk on the idea that we could be immortals, strong enough to fight any challenges we’d face together. A dull ache resonates in my chest at the thought.

Swallowing the bitter sweetness down, I hear Oikawa speak from beside me:

“So, this is the real deal. We’re gonna have to give him true justice - the raw kind.”

The way he promises a raw justice for Ushijima makes the hair on the back of my neck rise up. I tilt my chin up, asking, “And your plan is…?”

Oikawa Tooru, being the theatrical person he has always been since Day One, does not reply straight away; he skips down the road, stopping till he’s a few steps away from me. Turning around, he extends a hand out to me, fingers open invitingly.

“Follow me, and you'll find out,” he promises.

A thin crescent carves its way through the thick night sky, shedding pale beams of moonlight onto this part of town. As soft as they are, they're enough to outline Oikawa’s standing figure, all from the stray strands of hair bordering his forehead, till the tips of his fingers (even the nails on the last two fingers of his glint like molten silver).

A part of me believes that promise. It believes that he truly means his word this time, despite knowing how bad he has been with promises for the past few years. It makes me want to grab that hand, and step into another one of his reckless adventures.

But my fear makes me judge before stepping close to him. It overrules such youthful tendencies of mine, and instead makes me resist temptation, and walk past him, with hands casually tucked in my pockets.

So as to lighten the mood, I pipe in: “And my previous statement still stands - you're a huge drama queen.”

I hear his spluttering gasps from behind me, and I can't help but laugh at it. I further inform him to ‘ _stop making that face_ ’, deeming it ‘ _stupid_ ’. That makes Oikawa whine loudly, as he trails behind me like a lost puppy. His feet drag across the gravelly road, his string of grumbles ceasing only when we’re at Ushijima’s mansion of a house.

Even that sounds like an understatement. It's a grand thing that covers up too much space to even consider fair, with walls that glow even in the darkness. From the way the grass is mowed to perfection, each hedge lining the corners of his yard trimmed neatly, anyone could tell that this guy was filthy rich. I have to suppress a groan when I spy two statues of golden lions, each standing valiantly at the sides of the house’s oaken doors.

As we approach the mansion of a house, I have to say, “I honestly hope you know what you're doing…”

“Hush, Iwaizumi,” he whispers beside me. He quickens his pace some more, till he’s a few paces ahead of me. It is then that he speaks up, “Think of this as an adventure!”

I make a face at the back of his head. _Yeah - a stupid, senseless, breathless adventure_. The thought sends tiny jolts of electricity within my fingertips all the same.

Oikawa takes a turn, creeping behind the house, and I follow. We stop when the tall walls of his house loom over us. He then ducks low, squatting beside a small window plastered onto the house so low anyone could have looked past it. I squat alongside him, peering into the dusty glass. The inside is just as dark as the world outside, though if I squinted hard enough, I could barely make out the outline of a large closet.

“Is that-”

“His bedroom? Yes,” Oikawa completes, as he tries prying the window open.

“But it’s empty-”

“That just makes it easier!”

“But won’t anyone hear us?”

“No one’s here,” Oikawa replies calmly.

“No one?” I echo.

“Yeah, no one - it’s like, let’s say… a ‘ _mommy-and-daddy-hardly-ever-stay-home_ ’ kind of sob-story.”

I nod slowly, thinking of how Ushijima might have days when he expects to have some family time with his mother and father, only to know that they’re just too busy to come by at all. They might not come for a few days, and the next thing he knows, they might be missing his birthday, just because of their ‘job’. That must be tough, to practically have no family in that aspect.  
But then, that gives him no right to hurt others - that gives him no green-card to break Oikawa’s heart.

I just leave it at that, as I wait for Oikawa to do what he knows best. He’s biting his lip, trying to pry the window open. Soon, his efforts bear the fruit; the hinges scream in protest, but the rusty window finally opens up. Oikawa then moves as silent and swift as a shadow; he wiggles through the tiny window with a strange sort of expertise. He takes just a moment of grunting and swearing, and before I know it, he’s stumbling inside Ushijima’s room - with a certain grace, I must say.

I can’t help but note with a smirk: “Looks like you’ve been doing this for a long time, Oikawa.”

“Har, har, har,” he mutters from inside, “Now, do you need some special invitation? C’mon!”

I roll my eyes, as I try slithering through the open window. Soon enough, I’ve entered the vast bedroom - though with the grace of a headless chicken; I practically hit every kind of surface on my way down, and I grunt and swear more than Oikawa had to.

Somehow, I land on my head first, before my feet even touch the ground. I groan loudly, as stars burst behind my eyelids. I’m curled up on the floor, holding my head in my hands, and it’s Oikawa’s sickeningly smug voice that cuts through my pain:

“Looks like you haven’t done this enough, Iwaizumi.”

“May you fuck off, please?”

“If you insist!”

I shake my head, more to gather my senses after that fall than to appease Oikawa. I stand up on my feet, dusting the palms of my hands. I look around myself, and realize that it was just how I had expected it to be - just like his house, his room is just as obnoxiously huge; there’s a huge bed adorned at the center, with a polished wardrobe larger than life standing beside it. To the other side of the bed, there are rows of shelves, some filled with books, and most filled with trinkets and memories, including trophies, shields, and awards. The light blue walls are relatively plain, with only a few photographs and even fewer posters hung on them.

Oikawa slaps his hands together. “So! Y’see, there is just one thing we need to do for Phase One.”

Oikawa turns around, meeting my eyes. Even in the dim room, I can see his eyes twinkle with mischief. He smiles with one corner of his mouth, saying, “He’s known to be a clean-freak - as you can clearly tell.”

He waves a hand around the room, and it’s funny how I don’t notice it before; somehow, everything he owns exists in a proper place, each object placed a little too perfectly. There’s not even a single wrinkle on the damn sheets.

“So,” Oikawa continues, “I guess you know what we’re gonna do.”

There’s a moment of silence between us - before it hits me. It strikes me like a spark, and it leaves me buzzing with energy again, a giddy sort of heat underneath my skin that makes me grin. And my grin just grows impossibly wider, when I see Oikawa do the same.

After that, we wreak havoc.

We rip out the perfectly tucked bed sheets, and throw them on the floor. I pick two of his pillows, and - with Oikawa’s nod of acceptance - launch them at his dresser. Thankfully, I don’t break anything, though I'm pleased when I hear the clangs of deodorants falling to the ground.

Oikawa has made his way towards Ushijima’s wardrobe. Throwing its doors wide open, he picks out one article of clothing, judges it, and then throws it away, not before muttering something about ‘dating someone with such a bad sense of fashion’. The longer he continues this with more of his clothes, the more amusing it gets. Soon enough, the sight alone makes me chuckle.

Oikawa hears it, he hears it well. He turns around, and smirks at me.

“Are you laughing at me?” he asks coyly.

“No,” I lie.

Oikawa just humphs. Shrugging, he juts one side of his hip out, and cocks his head to his side. With a cheeky smile, he says, “Well, make yourself useful!”

“How should I- oomph.”

I don’t complete my question, because a pair of bright red boxers skyrockets right at my face. I splutter in surprise, peeling the fabric off of me just as quickly as I discard it.

This time, Oikawa’s chuckling, trying to smother his giggles behind his fist - and failing.

Quirking an eyebrow at him, I speak slowly, “Oh, you will regret that move.”

Just as I say it, I pick the nearest thing beside me - an obnoxiously yellow T-shirt that managed to cross the entire room to land at my feet. He wasn’t lying about bad fashion sense, it seems.

No matter - I ball it up in my hands, and launch it right at Oikawa.

Sadly, Oikawa dodges it. But then, just as he’s poking his tongue at me, I aim a pillow square at his face. When he yowls, I laugh out loud.

It is then that he picks up two pillows in his hands, and growls: “Oh, you’re so on.”

Hence, what had started out as a friendly game soon morphs itself into a full fledged war, with piles of clothing for bullets, and bouts of laughter for bloodshed.

My stomach hurts from laughing too much, and tears of mirth gather at the corners of my eyes. Somehow, this war of ours ends up with both of us standing on Ushijima’s bed, both of us having articles of clothing in each of our hands. I’m ready to strike that same pair of boxers at his face, but something stops me. It’s his bubbly laughter, it's the twinkle in his eyes, the sweat and glitter on his skin glowing under the moonlight.

Maybe it’s the heat of the moment, maybe it’s just me high over adrenaline, or maybe it’s just me overthinking, but the way Oikawa stands before me, with youth lighting him up like a flame in darkness, and a smile brighter than the sun makes me realize that he has never looked this alive before. He has never looked this beautiful before.

I see a hesitance in Oikawa, too, though deciphering it is hard. He gives me no time to do so, either; with a friendly giggle, he jumps off of the bed with a sigh. Moments pass by, with me still standing on the bed, motionless, and with a pair of boxers in my hand.

Timidly, I throw them away. Shaking my head, soon I follow his suit. With my hands on my hips, I catch my breath. Looking around the room again, I ask, “So, do we have anything else left?”

I expect a reply, maybe a laugh, or a jest - something. All I’m met with is silence.

I turn around, to find Oikawa at the table beside the bed. When I see him holding a frame in his hands, I gulp. He could have been staring at any picture - but the way his eyebrows scrunch at his forehead, and the way he bites his lip ever so slightly, I know what he’s looking at.

Stepping forward, I speak: “Hey, Oikawa…”

Silence. Oikawa is still biting his lip, still staring at the picture, still contemplating all the possible reasons Ushijima decided to leave him so messily, so easily.

The silence cracks, when Oikawa finally says:

“True love, my ass.”

With that, he drops the frame. I swear that the moment I hear the glass break, something inside of him cracks as well.

 

We leave Ushijima’s room in total ruins, enough to make any clean-freak go crazy, and not without dumping the entire bouquet of flowers on top of the disaster of a bed.

Slithering out of the house is easier when Oikawa helps me out. Soon, we’re back in the car, driving off to yet another part of this long, tiring, yet satisfying adventure.

As we drive down the main road once more, curiosity tugs at me. “What more do we have in store for Ushijima now?”

“Oh, we have Phase Two to deal with,” he answers, with a hint of mischief lining his voice.

He then relays me the entire scheme. I’m flabbergasted to say the least.

“Oikawa, you do realise how risky this is?” I reason.

“Yes,” he answer.

“And that this might potentially send us both to jail?

“Yup.”

“And that this might be the most ridiculous plan you've ever come up with?”

He then glances at me, the slightest of doubts setting into his very bones. He bites his lip. “S-so, you’re up for it?”

I glance at him, trying to find a reason why I should put my entire life and wellbeing on the line, all for a farfetched prank.

I take in the rigidness in his stature, the tension built tight underneath his skin, and the utter steeliness set in his eyes. Even if he’s afraid, he’s got enough courage to counter it.

I look away, training my attention back at the road, as I drive through the silent town of ours.

After another minute of steely silence, I tell him, “I’ve come all this way - I might as well.”

Even though I’ve just potentially granted my own death wish, Oikawa’s ensuing bout of laughter doesn't make me nervous. If anything, it lights up that same kind of boyish fire underneath my skin, making me revv the car engine with a tenacity I never knew I possessed.

 

*

 

“You’re sure he’s here?”

“Positive,” he confirms, as I stop the car. His eyes are too busy staring at the huge house looming before us, it’s rooms gone pitch black, with not a single light lighting them up. He stares at it hard, as he continues, “If Ushijima wasn’t at his own place, there’s only one other place he’d be - Ashley’s house.”

He points at a black Audi standing at the edge of the driveway, confirming Ushijima’s presence there.

“Ashley...?”

“Oh, the girl Ushijima’s screwing; a blondie from the cheer-leading squad - y’know, the one with the mole on her chin.”

“Uh-”

“Anyway, let’s get to it!” he pipes up. He turns around, and hauls out the entire shopping bag. Once well equipped, we walk out into the cold night air. Our feet slap against the asphalt, resonating through the cold night. But as they echo behind us, it almost feels as if we truly are the servers of justice.

We stop only when the sleek, black Audi stands before us. With the way even the faintest rays of moonlight reflects off of its surface like a freshly polished ornament, I'm almost intimidated to take even the slightest of steps close to it. It might be worth more than my entire fucking apartment.

Regardless of what it’s worth is, Oikawa uncaps the can of spray paint. With one smooth press, he starts painting Ushijima’s car a bright bubblegum pink.

On some other day, the instance might have made me crinkle my nose in disgust, might have even made me scold Oikawa for doing something as stupid as this. But tonight is different.

I uncap my own can, use an arm to cover my face, and begin following Oikawa’s suit. Together, we paint the entire thing a pink so bright it makes me cringe. As one can finishes, Oikawa dishes out a whole new one, and soon, we’re walking circuits round it, covering each and every inch of its black body. Only once five cans or so of spray paint have been emptied, do we stop.

The sight itself is utterly amusing: a classic Audi, as black as night itself - now transformed into something that might as well have been pulled out of a Barbie movie.

I can’t hide the chuckle that escapes my lips, and neither can Oikawa.

“Damn, he’s gonna love this,” I judge.

Oikawa hums, his own chuckles ringing in the cold night air. His smile has that nervous energy lining it, the kind that makes your very bones jittery with excitement. And frankly, it's contagious; even I end up feeling the tips of my fingers tingle.

That slight tingle turns into waves of electricity rushing through my veins, when Oikawa tells me:

“Now, comes the best part.”

 

°

 

The cell phone rings in Oikawa’s hands. It buzzes, buzzes, and buzzes some more. It’s on the fifth ring, when they pick up.

“Hello?” a deep voice croaks from the other end.

“Ehm, hello?” says Oikawa, in a voice much deeper than his own. “Is this the household of Ashley?”

“Ah, yes, yes, she’s our daughter - uh, is there a problem...?”

“Oh, no, no, good sir! Nothing seems to be the problem - unless you consider the fact that your daughter is sleeping with my son without your consent a problem.”

“Huh?”

“I suggest you go have a look at your daughter, right now - goodnight to you, sir!” And with that last chirp, Oikawa ends the call.

I save my giggles for later, because now, I’ve got my job to do.

Peering through the bush where we hide, I check whether his trick worked or not. For a few seconds, I dread that it might have turned into a total failure. But then, I see the window at the top light up - and then the room below it lights up, then the dining room, and lastly, their secret hideout.

“It worked!” I whisper.

“And now it’s all on you,” Oikawa whispers back, “do good!”

Biting my lip, I ready myself; I carefully push my cellphone out of the bush, my finger hovering over the ‘record’ button. And now, I wait.

It takes about two minutes before I hear the thundering of footsteps, maybe even a few angry yells and shouts as it all goes on. There’s thumps, thuds, more yelling - and then it all happens at once.

The door leading to what might have been the attic bursts open, and a man emerges out of it, running through the lawn as naked as the day he was born. With quick reflexes, I press the recording button, and I film a naked and flabbergasted Ushijima running out in the open in the dead of night.

Oikawa has a hand clasped around his mouth, but I don’t let it distract me. Instead, I maneuver myself around a bit, till I catch Ushijima crossing the road towards his car.

I don’t know what’s funnier - his shocked squeak at seeing his precious Audi turned so pink, or the fact that he basically can’t get in the car, unless he does something about the duct tape that binds the handles tight (call it a last-minute courtesy of Oikawa himself).

But for some reason, Ushijima is either really brave, or just plain stupid, because he takes his precious time peeling the damn tape off of the handle. It takes him a good minute to peel it off. It’s also then that the shouts inside the house turn a little louder - I could have sworn I even hear the sobs of a bad girl getting caught.

That knocks some sense into Ushijima, because his skin grows paler than before. The paint sticks to his skin, but he wrenches the door open anyway. The last few scenes are just too comical; he seats himself, turns the car on, then realizes that he can’t see a single thing through his pink windshield. So he has to first roll the window down, shove his face out of the car like some dog, and then burn some rubber as he races down the road.

And it’s all - and more - that I have caught on film.

 

We’re in the car again, but we don’t drive ahead, for we are too busy laughing breathlessly at a classic, two minutes long video of an unlucky ex-boyfriend accepting his share of bittersweet justice with not much grace at all. It feels unreal that I could have taken part in something as ridiculous, as illogical, as reckless as this - more so when I did so without getting caught.

We laugh after watching the video twice, and we laugh even when we’re done watching it. I’m clutching my sides after laughing so hard for so long, while Oikawa’s trying to catch his breath with gasps and gulps of air beside me. And right there, I want nothing more than to freeze this moment in time, capturing it so that it doesn't slip away. Sitting here in the car, at 4 AM of the night, laughing at everything and nothing with Oikawa Tooru - all of it feels so priceless.

It feels like forever when we actually stop laughing. I’m cleaning tears of mirth out of the corners of my eyes, while Oikawa still tries to muffle his giggles behind his fist.

When we look at each other, the realization dawns upon me:

This was the last phase of his mission to ‘ _serve justice_ ’. The adventure he promised me back in my apartment has now come to an end.

My heart has turned into lead, heaving right at the pit of my stomach with a force that makes my breath hitch. It's all too soon, too sudden for my liking. It feels as if only moments ago one Oikawa Tooru had miraculously showed up at my terrace, promising me a night where we’d be the saviors. It’s unbelievable how all of it had passed by in the blink of an eye. The pure adrenaline rushing through me instead of blood, the jolts of electricity running underneath my skin, the feeling of youth lighting me up like a fire - it’s as if all of it lasted for only a moment. And now it has to end?

Just then, a soft smile touches Oikawa’s lips - is it sympathetic? Is it happy, or sad? is it something - or nothing? I can't tell.

The smile grows shy, when Oikawa bows his head a little, and asks in a soft, supple voice:

“Do you have some time to spare?”

A part of me wants to say ‘no’. A part of me wants to turn away, and sleep the memories away. It’s the same part of me that warns me of Oikawa’s promises; it’s the same part of me that urges my heart one thing - to give up the search for something that might have never existed in the first place.

And yet, I obey the unsung part of me. I smile back, and nod.

 

*

 

“Here. Here is good.”

I obey Oikawa once more, stepping on the brakes just before the huge flight of stairs, belonging to what seems to be the local museum. It’s clean walls stand tall and proud, flanked at the edges with four pillars, carved out of white marble. I recall this place very well; I remember my days back in school, when our teachers would escort us around all kinds of artifacts, belonging to ages gone by, giving us lessons about historic events and what-not as they did.

It had been ages since I last came here, however. I had forgotten how everything looked like.

What’s this supposed to mean…?

Wordlessly, Oikawa steps out of the car, and I follow him. As we make our way towards the grand flight of stairs, he explains how he has a friend he knows, who can give them a free entry anytime. I’m almost certain he’s just kidding, for a laugh’s sake - but then, as we reach the top of the stairs, the youthful security guard sitting on his chair doesn’t stop the pair of us. He doesn’t ask us why the fuck are we interested in a freaking museum in the middle of the night. He actually gets up, and greets us two with a hearty grin.

Oikawa returns the warmth with a firm handshake and a beaming smile. The guard then holds his hips, as he asks, “So, need another time out, huh?”

_ Time out…? _

“Yes, please!”

“Well, guess I can’t deny you, can I?” He chuckles to himself, as he pulls out his keys, and unlocks the entrance for us. Giving him a charming smile, he says further, “Just don’t cause trouble, yeah?”

“I’ll try my best - I’ve got Iwaizumi here to keep me in my limits, after all!”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and blush at the same time, instead giving the security guard a simple smile and my thanks. With a few more kind words and hearty bouts of laughter (mostly from the guard’s side), Oikawa and I make our way inside the museum.

As the doors close shut behind us, I walk up beside Oikawa. “Should I even ask how you managed to make that guy kiss your ass?”

I know that wordless smirk of his - with that, he just waves his hand in the air nonchalantly. “Some things are best kept private!”

I chuckle with him, as we finally enter the museum. My voice echoes off of the cavernous walls of the museum. It's like a maze, with different halls and pathways, guiding us through different decades of history and art alike. I’m still confused as to what are we exactly here for, so I depend on Oikawa to guide me at the least. To my surprise, I don’t see him turning around on his heel, and relaying yet another brilliant motive of his - he just tucks his hands in his pockets, and slowly strolls deeper into the museum.

Approaching two huge oaken doors as tall as the walls of the museum, he pushes them open, revealing a vast, vacant room, filled with different items of the past. Slowly, we get lost within the folds of time surrounding us, in the form of ancient war maps of the Mongols, and the great books of the courtiers of Mughal Emperors. On pedestals, I see antique vases as well as swords and shields belonging to the dark ages, while different mannequins don the illustrious attire of the various brave soldiers and knights of times gone by.  
It amazes me how ages that have passed centuries ago seem to be laid open right before us; like opening the pages of a book, it’s as if we are reliving ancient moments ourselves. Despite never having any real interest in history, the thought makes me sigh in fascination.

I stop at a case of glass, inside which there is a velvet pillow. On top of it, a golden sword lays unsheathed, with its scabbard placed just beside it. Ancient runes and readings mark its surface, glinting golden under the dim lights of the room.

I can't help but fight a smile at the sight. If I recall well, I had seen this sword before - back in high school. If I try to remember, Oikawa had been with me, then. Does he remember?

“Hey, Oikawa.” I call out.

But I’m only met with silence. Curious, I look around, to see Oikawa far, far away from me, too busy staring at a painting at the far end of the room. His head is tipped to one side, as he keeps on staring at the scenery, too lost to even listen to me.

He has always loved art, I remember. Smiling a small smile, I walk towards him slowly, eager not to damage his aura of concentration. He hadn't heard me approach, just as he hadn't heard me call out his name; from this close, I can tell how he’s too busy memorizing the subtle strokes of paint on canvas, that build up to bring a whole scene to life. The kind of focus he shows right now is strong, undeniable - as if he hardly ever gets the chance to spend some time this peacefully.

And so, I don’t make a move to remind him of our memories here, knowing that such nostalgic instances might ruin all of- all of this. _Some other time, maybe_ , I promise myself.

Instead, I tail behind Oikawa, letting his soft, measured footsteps guide me throughout the grand museum. We make our way out of the older, historic sections, and deeper into the world of art. I only realize we are there when I see all the different kinds of paintings and statues surrounding me, instead of the usual antiques and vintage items. I stare at the various paintings hanging on the clean, white walls; some show beautiful women clad in illustrious dresses, while others show simpler landscapes, revealing brilliant colors of the sky. When we take a certain turn, more abstract pieces of art pop up around us; some are simple smears of paint across a white canvas, while others are continuous lines tracing vague figures, like that of a woman, with her lover.

As the pieces of art get more abstract, the longer Oikawa takes time to study them; it fascinates me even more when I notice how he studies each stroke of pencil, each smear of paint, each and every detail a work of art has to offer. He’s drinking it all like an antidote, as if it'll rejuvenate him, make him feel whole again. And from the way he gasps at every painting softly, it feels as if it does.

I’d be lying if I told you that there is no beauty in this artistic tenacity of his, an energy that grows more intense the longer he strolls through the museum; the way his eyes almost glow when he’s staring at a statue of a man in war, the way his cheeks grow pink when he looks at a detailed painting of flowers, and the way his lips quirk in a tiny smile when he studies a picture of a loud, almost violent painting - it all captivates me, till I’m no longer focusing on the valuable pieces of art around me. Only him.

“Y’know, I’ve always loved these paintings.”

It’s Oikawa who says that, who breaks the silence that had persisted for so long. He’s standing in front of yet another painting. Its canvas stretches as tall as the museum wall itself, showing the face of a woman painted messily with black. But the artist hasn't shown any of her facial features, replacing them with wild, random strokes of bright shades of blue, red, yellow, and green. From up close, it looks haphazard, messy, confusing. From afar, though, it looks chaotically beautiful.

He continues. “I mean, I’ll admit it, sometimes I don’t get what the artist is trying to tell me in some paintings. But there’s… there’s one thing I’ve noticed in them all - they’re all honest, they’re all real. And- and that's what makes them so unique, so… beautiful.”

He sighs through his nose. A giggle escapes his lips, a frail one, without a shred of humor in it. Just hearing it makes my heart clench in my chest.

“It's a pity,” he says, “how in real life, the pretty people end up being the ugliest liars.”

I don't know what makes me stop right where I stood; is it his words, or his hopeless voice?

I’m not sure. But what I am sure of, is that for some reason, I want to learn what makes a man as pompous as Oikawa Tooru reduce himself to a nervous human being. I want to know him, all over again if I have to. It's not a feeling of curiosity anymore - it’s a necessity.

A wave of cold fear shudders through me.

Once again, it’s Oikawa’s voice that snaps me out of my state of reverie:

“Hey, Iwaizumi. Can I show you one last thing, if you don't mind?”

There's not even a breath’s hesitance in my bones, when I shorten the distance between us.

He leads me deeper into the museum, our path winding through twists and turns and secret passages cutting through the whitewashed halls of the monument. We stop before a simple door, also painted white to blend with the walls. Above it, the red words seem to stand out starkly: ‘Emergency Exit’, it says.

It’s when Oikawa pulls out yet another bobby pin from his hair and is working it through the intricate lock, when I ask:

“Um, are we even allowed to do this?”

Click. The lock opens just then, and he twists the door open. Walking in, I find us in a dark, dingy place. My steps echo, and it's through their resonances that I realise that the floor is made of metal. Dark, metallic stairs climb their way up above and below me. There is no source of light, save the red, neon arrow pointing towards the flight of stairs leading down. With the same shade, the words ‘Emergency Exit’ border that same arrow. For the stairs above, though, I see no sign.

Suddenly, I’m well aware of the situation I’m in. I’m not annoyed, however, nor am I surprised.

I bark a laugh. “We’re not supposed to be here, are we?”

Just as I had expected, Oikawa echoes my own laugh. His chuckles are louder, as they bounce off of the walls.

With one foot on the first step of the flight of stairs leading up above, he turns around.

He looks at me. Even in the dim light, his stare gleams bright, with life and vigor. He extends a hand out to me, fingers open wide.

“What should we do now?” I ask, even when I know what the answer will be.

He smiles. “We run.”

(Before, I might have never followed him. Before, I might have spat at that smile of his, cursed him for being so arrogant, and turned away, refusing to look back - the same way I've been doing so for so many years.)

(But tonight is different.)

This time, I take his hand. And we run.

And it’s silly. It seems stupid to break through a part of a well-guarded museum, and just run away from the situation as if someone’s life depends on it. Yet here I am, climbing up two steps at a time, feeling my breaths grow deeper and my hand encased in Oikawa’s own warm one. Here I am, with muscles burning, grunts escaping my lips - here I am being pulled into what feels like another adventure, with him.

The cool night air rushes over us when we step out onto the roof, and it’s then that we stop. Both of us are panting from the sudden run - both of us feel fatigue set in us, as the entire night’s deeds and doings settle over our weary bones. Yet, we don’t leave each other’s hands. Oikawa still grips my hand - tighter, if that is possible.

I spare a look around me, to stare at what seems to be the entire world. Letting go of Oikawa’s hand slowly, somewhat reluctantly, I walk towards the edge of the roof, my hands clasping the rusty grill bordering it’s squat walls. Before me, the world is dark, save for a few lights glimmering like stars. If I squint, I can make out the outlines of plain houses, monotonous buildings, simple parks, and everything else that comprises of our homely neighborhood. From where I stand, they all seem so small, plain, insignificant.

But when the wind blows once more, rushing over my entire being, I realize how it all feels different; how the air cooling my skin feels more vivid, how the sweat sticking against my back feels so right, how my heaving breaths feel justified. I realize how the blood pumping through my veins feels laced with adrenaline, how my skin feels flushed, and how significant I feel. I realize that for the first time, it feels as if I’m real. It feels as if I exist - as if I’m alive.

There’s a warm presence residing just beside me. When I catch the sharp whiff of spray paint, henna, and a sweet smell that is just too otherworldly to assign to someone else, I know who it is.

Grabbing for the metal bar before us, Oikawa mirrors my stance. Silence prevails between us two, but it isn’t uncomfortable; it’s the sort of silence that fills the air when you catch your breath after a long race. It’s the sort of stillness that helps you gather your senses, and reflect on the adventure you just had, reminiscing the taste of it. I still feel it, lingering in my mouth, rushing through me. It’s still there - and I don’t want to let it go.

I glance at his way, to find him staring at me yet again. This time, he does so with a tiny smile, almost inconspicuous.

This time, I can't hold my tongue. “What're you looking at?”

Surprisingly, Oikawa doesn't deny staring at me. If anything, he laughs a little, smirking while he did. Leaning a little closer to the bars, he says, “Nothing, it's just… it’s good to see you enjoy like this; I can assume you haven’t had real fun.”

His voice isn’t as cocky as I was used to. It’s so soft, subtle, almost- almost shy. Oikawa is shy.

I ignore the way my throat tightens, trying to hide it with a scoff. “Well, it’s not everyday you get to paint your ex’s car a pretty pink, hm?”

He laughs at that, kind of expected - but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Even when his lips are stretched into a smile, there's not a bit of humor in his eyes.

It's moments later that I register my own voice breaking the silence: “S-spit it out.”

It catches him by surprise. He turns his head, blinking at me owlishly. A cold gust of wind rushes past us, making his hair rustle gently.

I take the moment to repeat myself. “Spit it out, Oikawa.”

“Spit out what?”

“Something’s bothering you - and you’re not telling me. So, tell me.”

And like a clap of thunder, his expression falters. No, it doesn't falter; it falls, to reveal what he truly feels - a sadness, that runs deep into his very bones. I can almost see that fake facade of his peel from the edges, crumbling away with each gust of wind, unveiling something similar to what we call brokenness.

Oikawa Tooru lets out the longest sigh he could have held. Crossing his arms on top of the bars, he gazes at the town unfolding beyond us.

With his stare trained forward, he says, “It’s nothing, just… I had hoped that giving Ushijima what he deserved would sort of… help me. I had thought that- that maybe if I planned the ultimate plot to dish out justice to everyone who ever wronged me, I’d feel better about it. I thought I wouldn't feel sorry for myself. And yet- yet, after doing all these crazy things I’ve taken days to scheme, I still feel… lost.”

_Lost_. The word hangs in the air; it confuses me, more so when it’s Oikawa who speaks them, in a wistful tone.

“And I know it's stupid of me, to do all that we did, and still say that I’m not satisfied… I just- I don't get why people- why I- Ugh, just forget it, you wouldn't understand…”

“But I do understand.”

I never wanted to say that. I never wanted to undo all the little things I’ve never known about him, only wanted to keep this night as a once-in-a-lifetime happening - yet the words came unbidden, and honest.

(Because as much as I’m afraid of falling for him, I want to take care of him.)

It shocks Oikawa, more than it surprises him. He stares at me, more in confusion than in fascination. “You do?”

I nod. “What you're saying is that- that even though you tried finding yourself by correcting all the wrongs done to you, you still feel lost. And that's... okay.”

Oikawa doesn't give me a chance to complete: “How can that be okay? How can being so confused, so incomplete be okay? That doesn't make sense - it’s like a- like a-”

“A paradox?” I smile. “Yeah, if you put it that way. But then… aren't we all like paradoxes?”

Oikawa gives me a look, with a crinkle of his nose. I look away, staring at the town below us. I see the houses, I see the black roads, I see the trees, and I see the sky. I feel the steady wind blowing towards us, the chilliness setting within my bones. I take it all in, and I let it out:

“We all are a lot like paradoxes ourselves. It might sound stupid, but… but you can’t deny it. We all say things we don’t mean. We all sin, yet we cover it up with the good we do. We break, and then we tell others we’re fine. We hate, we cheat, and then... we love, don’t we? We fall, and then we rise; we fight, and then we forgive. And we- we fall for people we can’t have.”

I ignore the way my throat tightens at that - but there’s no denying the hitch in my breath when chocolate brown eyes meet my own. The gaze could have been a simple one, if it were not for the gleam it possessed, making me feel something deep inside my stomach; something I’ve been trying to avoid. Something I’ve been afraid of.

With a helpless shrug, I complete myself: “No matter how confusing a paradox may be, I can’t help but… be one myself.”

“But isn't that just irritating? Being so confusing, almost two-faced… Where’s the honesty in that? Where’s the beauty in that?”

“It doesn't have to be irritating - that's the whole point, I think. We humans, we’re so different from simpler animals, so different from one another. No two people can ever be truly alike, right? And yeah, it does confuse me, it does drive me nuts…” With a shake of my head, I lick my lips. “But in a way, our paradoxes make us different - it makes us who we are. That’s gotta be beautiful, right?”

After the longest pause I’ve ever experienced, Oikawa shakes his head. The tiniest of smiles graces his lips, as he stares at me in pure wonderment. “You always make a great argument, huh?”

I feel a blush flood into my cheeks, as I look away. Smirking, this time, he steps just a little bit closer. “So, what if I wanna solve this paradox?”

I roll my eyes playfully. “Always the ambitious one, huh?”

He giggles. “Well, you know me - I can’t go on without challenging something. And what’s better than challenging your own self?”

“Ah, nothing better!”

“Don’t be mean-”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“But your tone is sarcastic - and sarcasm is mean!”

I can’t help but laugh at his childish accusations, which makes Oikawa laugh as well. Our fits of giggles bring us closer, somewhat, till our arms are pressed against one another. I don’t really notice the proximity, not when our laughter rings through the night air so perfectly. If anything, the heat beside me is welcome.

Only once Oikawa has caught his breath, does he wonder aloud: “What if the answer lies outside?”

I cock my head. “Outside?”

“Yeah - what if the answer to this seemingly... simple paradox exists not here, but out there? What then?”

What’s he going on about…

“Well… it depends, doesn’t it?” I try, shrugging, “Will knowing it help you? Will breaking it down to its core make you feel better? Are you willing to risk everything you have to really understand your paradox? Are you… Are you willing to find yourself through it?”

Oikawa takes a moment of silence after that, gazing at the sky. A deep pink bleeds through the edge of the horizon, claiming the beginning of day, and the end of a night well spent.

It is then that he nods, ever so softly.

I nod, too. “Then nothing should stop you.”

Oikawa bites his lip around a smile. The silence that follows is punctuated by the gust of wind. It’s subtle, soft, ruffling my shirt as it passes over us. I face the current, and close my eyes shut, just reveling in it all. I absorb the wind; I absorb the silence it carries, absorb the subtle stillness the night has to offer. I’m glad I came here, and witnessed it all.

And I’m glad I didn’t witness this rare magnificence alone.

“Let’s make a deal.”

I open my eyes, and turn to look at him.

Somehow, the two of us had gotten impossibly closer; our arms pressed flush against the other, our heat penetrating through the other’s skin, and it seemed that only a breath’s distance remained between the two of us. From here, I can see pink mist clinging to his skin, a result of spraying an entire Audi with spray paint. I can see the neon green Band-Aid on his jaw, peeling from one side, and I can even see his cheeks glow like gold with the remnants of his cheap highlighter.

My heart hammers against my chest, as I tip my head back in question. Oikawa licks his lips before saying:

“Let’s make a deal: we both try solving our own paradoxes ourselves.”

I quirk an eyebrow. “Oh, and the catch?”

“We’ll be the only ones to know each other’s answers. No one else.”

He answers it without hesitance, without even a moment’s pause. If anything, I’m taken aback. I would have taken his eagerness as a jape - but the way a wave of gleaming light flashes through Oikawa’s eyes, solidifying into something I’d call commitment, I know he isn’t joking.

He’s making a promise, I realize. And despite him having a bad history with promises broken instead of kept, it almost feels as if he’ll keep this one. Almost.

Ignoring the way the icy lingerings of uncertainty and distrust creeps under my skin, I smile at him. With a defiant nod, I hold out a hand.

“Deal,” I say.

Oikawa grins back, but not with the air of competitiveness he usually has around him. He grabs for my hand, gripping it tight - and I’d be damned if my skin did not burn against his.

 

We leave the museum in silence. We enter the car in silence, and drive all the way back home in utter silence. By then, the dark sky had lightened to form a deep, rich blue. Nothing but our breaths could be heard - as if we were the only people alive in the entire universe.

I steer the car around corners, change the gears, adjust the mirrors even though there’s not a single car on the fucking road. Yet my moves feel jittery, they feel mechanical - and I don’t know why.

Somewhere in the middle of the ride, Oikawa had rolled the window down. The cool air rushes inside the car, lifting away any kind of fatigue making us feel heavy. But he doesn’t stop there. With some desperation, he pulls his head out of the car, and sighs, as if the wind could pick away at all his troubles, sadness, and broken pieces. The way he smiled against the current, sliding his eyes close, it almost felt as if the wind did just that.

His brown tufts of hair ruffle in the air with each gust. His cheeks grow flush against the chilly air, and from here, the streetlights illuminate his cheeks like dust made of gold.

The small memory of him applying cheap highlighter from an inconspicuous supermarket pushes forth a tidal wave of more memories - of our night’s escapades: of us serving justice to unjust people on behalf of the Universe; of feeling rushes of excitement run through us; of laughing till our sides hurt, of daring to do the unthinkable - of truly living.

And it’s then that I realize that I’ll miss it all. I’ll miss the way sweat trickled down my forehead, yet I relished it. I’ll miss the way pure adrenaline had coursed through me like wildfire. I’ll miss the way laughs erupted from my chest as if it was all that I contained. And I’ll miss him. I don’t care if that’s a one-sided feeling. I can’t care, because I’ll miss him.

I can’t help the way my heart jumps when I catch him staring at me. I can’t help the cold feeling of fear and dread turn my limbs into lead either.

 

*

 

“So… this is it, I guess?”

“Y-yeah.”

I wait for his reply before doing anything else, before even looking at his direction. I just focus my gaze directly at the front of my door, just waiting - for something.

My brain tells me to say a curt ‘good night’, extend a hand to open the door, and walk inside. My brain tells me to just let everything that had happened remain yet another memory you could reminiscence on - and nothing more.

But my heart wants something else. Something more.

I turn towards him. Shakily, I hold up a hand.

“So long, then-”

But I don’t get a chance to complete myself, for Oikawa crushes me with a massive hug.

I feel my breath push right out of me, but Oikawa shows no mercy - he only hugs me tighter. He digs his face into the crook of my neck, and when I feel him sigh against my skin, I almost yelp out in surprise.

“Thank you,” he whispers, a puff of breath against the side of my neck.

My embarrassment runs thin when he says that. He sounds so shy, so quiet, so damn thankful, I find myself smiling over his shoulder.

I wind my arms over his shoulders, so that I hug him back just as tight. I can’t ignore the way I can feel his heartbeat against my chest, like a thunderous beating of drums. I can’t ignore how warm he feels, how it has been so fucking long since the last time we hugged like this. For some reason, a part of me wants to let it last longer.

But soon, we extract ourselves away from each other. With one last look at one another, we let go.

Before I open the door to my mundane life, I stop.

“Oikawa,” I say.

Oikawa stops at the foot of the stairs, turning around to look at me.

I lick my lips, before asking: “S-so, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Oikawa doesn’t reply. He doesn’t give me a snarky reply, or a pompous nod of his head. He says nothing.

Before vanishing up the stairs, he only smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> So this was the first major Iwaoi I've ever written. Tell me how it was by commenting! I'm open for constructive criticism as well!
> 
> UNTIL NEXT TIME (I.e. snk mini bang HUEHUE) TAKE CARE


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